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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895600">The Unforgivability of Failing to Forgive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Floros/pseuds/Misty_Floros'>Misty_Floros</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Established Relationship, F/F, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:01:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Floros/pseuds/Misty_Floros</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale had never seen from up close what falling did to angels - until she was faced with the marks it had left on the one she loved the most.</p><p>So many times, she'd chalked up the misery present in the world to the ineffability of God's great plan. Doing so now, however, made her feel vaguely nauseous.</p><p>A clear path led from there, and it wasn't upwards.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Unforgivability of Failing to Forgive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Content warning: depictions of injury (not very graphic, but potentially upsetting), religious themes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Aziraphale heard Crowley talk to a plant was in the first spring after they’d moved in together. Aziraphale was reading in the study with the window open, and the sudden hum of conversation made her strain her ears. She walked outside to see if they had a visitor, only to stop in her tracks when she saw Crowley in the middle of something which Aziraphale had to describe as giving a dressing-down to a rhododendron.</p><p>“I told you,” the demon snarled in a low voice. “I told you you were supposed to keep the flowers for at least another week.” She picked up a dried blossom from the grass and brandished it menacingly at the shrub, in a way reminiscent of shoving an offending object in a person’s face. “What’s this, huh, you weak, pathetic piece of greenery?”</p><p>Aziraphale watched quietly, puzzled.</p><p>After a while, Crowley took a step away from the plant, sticking her hands in the pockets of her black dungarees. She hung her head, and there was a beat of silence. Then she said in a subdued voice, “Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, you’re a shrub, of course you didn’t do anything wrong.”</p><p>Aziraphale made a careful retreat and when Crowley returned into the house, asked tentatively, “Everything all right, dear?”</p><p>The answer she got was merely a non-committal, “What? Yeah, of course.”</p><p>Sometimes Aziraphale overheard a threat directed at the plants in the greenhouse, and other days she surreptitiously listened to the demon hiss at the roses growing along the path leading to the front door. Every time Crowley finished her hurtful tirade, she fell quiet, staring at her victims. She went on to apologise haltingly and continued pulling weeds out of the soil or emptying slug traps or whatever else she was doing.</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t ask her about it but made sure to hug her tight and make her a nice cup of cocoa whenever the demon’s words got away from her. She also sent a tendril of calming magic the plants’ way. Being rude to vegetation seemed to be a strange activity, and sometimes, she had the gnawing suspicion it wasn’t the plants Crowley was berating.</p><p>It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. She’d been to Hell in Crowley’s skin, after all, and had heard how they’d spoken to her. Passing the mistreatment along was a response Aziraphale didn’t find all that difficult to understand.</p><p>Some days Aziraphale thought Crowley was gradually breaking the habit, but then tension appeared in the demon’s shoulders, and she seemed to be bottling something up, and inevitably, she snapped at some innocent piece of flora when she was seeing to her garden.</p>
<hr/><p>One morning, Crowley stumbled downstairs earlier than usual, hair mussed and eyes bleary. Her pyjama shirt had slightly more buttons undone than was strictly decent, but it wasn’t as if Aziraphale minded.</p><p>Aziraphale hadn’t made sleeping an everyday practice as Crowley had, and had spent the night mostly looking for Christmas biscuit recipes, because if there was something she liked about the holiday, it was the sheer amount of sweet pastry. No time like October to start with Christmas baking.</p><p>She looked up from the <em> Lebkuchen Kekse </em> recipe she was muddling through – the last time she’d properly spoken German had been before the unification, when Heaven had been running too low on Principalities to assign each state its own angel – giving Crowley a smile. “Did you sleep well?”</p><p>Crowley grumbled something unintelligible and headed into the kitchenette, making a beeline for the kettle.</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is everything all right, dear?”</p><p>Crowley turned around while she waited for the water to boil. “Yeah. Just had a... not very pleasant dream, is all,” she muttered.</p><p>“Oh. Do you want to tell me about it?” Aziraphale asked carefully, taking off her reading glasses.</p><p>Crowley made a wordless sound, shrugging. After a moment of silence, she said, “It didn’t really make much sense.”</p><p>She didn’t elaborate as she continued preparing her tea. Afterwards, she returned into the living room to sit down on the floral-patterned sofa she’d put up a fight over but had reluctantly become fond of. Aziraphale stood up and settled herself next to Crowley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.</p><p>“You know you can tell me, don’t you?” Aziraphale asked, concerned eyes fixed on the side of the demon’s face.</p><p>“Sure. Question is whether I want to,” Crowley mumbled, snaking an arm around Aziraphale’s waist and squeezing as if in apology. She put her mug down on the coffee table and sighed.</p><p>“God was there,” she told the angel neutrally.</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Yeah. You sure you want to hear it?” Crowley asked sceptically.</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale replied, voice stiff with forced confidence.</p><p>Crowley remained silent, and Aziraphale patiently waited for her to continue. “You know what, forget it. Forget I said anything about a dream, yeah?”</p><p>“What? You can’t expect me to put it out of my mind just like that,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “You’re obviously upset by whatever happened in the dream. I assure you, I can handle it.”</p><p>Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale raised both of her eyebrows, as though it were a challenge.</p><p>“Fine,” Crowley deflated. “If you say you can, I believe you.” She remained silent for a few moments, apparently organising her thoughts.</p><p>“It started like this,” she began. “I was walking down a street, carrying a bucket of paint and a roller. I probably worked as a house painter in the dream. Anyway, I went to this house.” She paused. “She was waiting for me there. God, I mean. She was in the house and showed me to an empty room, and she told me to paint the walls. I had only the one bucket, and it was full of light blue paint. She left the room, and I got to work.</p><p>“After I was done, she came back there, and she…” Crowley took a deep breath. “She told me I’d done a shitty job. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the way I’d painted the room. The paint was even, and I’d covered up the floor not to stain it and all. She left again and I stood there with no clue what to do or how to fix it. I watched her leave the house, and I instinctively knew what she’d done in the way you know stuff in dreams.”</p><p>When it seemed Crowley wasn’t about to proceed, Aziraphale prompted, softly, “What had She done?”</p><p>“Well, she… before she left, she set the house on fire. Her voice told me that now she had to burn the whole house down because I’d messed that room up. Logically, I could have fetched a rope and escaped through the window or something, but you know how dreams are.”</p><p>Aziraphale was staring at her, horror in her eyes. “And you… you were in the house when it was on fire?”</p><p>Crowley patted Aziraphale’s knee. “It was just a dream, angel.”</p><p>“That isn’t a no,” Aziraphale replied, voice high-pitched.</p><p>“You’re taking this too seriously. It didn’t actually happen.”</p><p>“I know what a dream is, thank you,” Aziraphale said. The problem, of course, was that it <em> had </em>actually happened, and the real event had been much more horrifying. She enveloped the demon in her arms.</p><p>“It’s fine, angel,” Crowley mumbled into her hair.</p><p>It wasn’t. Aziraphale had a creeping feeling she was standing at the outset of a test of faith, which wasn’t anything new, but usually it felt like distant bombardment aimed at ramparts. This time, it was beginning to seem like hand-to-hand combat.</p>
<hr/><p>There was a church in their village. Technically, there was no basis for believing that talking to God in a place of worship increased the odds of Her hearing you. However, what was speaking of evidence in this context if not an absolute fallacy? Aziraphale thought she might as well pay the building a visit.</p><p>It stood at the foot of a small, forested hill, which rose behind it and made it look even more ominous than it did on its own. The off-white paint on the outer walls was peeling, and the pointed-arch windows were sombre, as was the roof. There was a rusty clock face mounted on the tower, its hands stuck on twenty to eleven.</p><p>Aziraphale had come to a decision over the course of the past week, so she went inside. There were only two other people, kneeling side by side in one of the front pews.</p><p>She sat, feeling slightly awkward, in the pew closest to the entrance. She folded her hands in her lap and spent a moment observing the modest decoration of the church. The walls in the nave were bare and the pillars simple, and the sanctuary was adorned with a few statuettes, its centrepiece being a large, elaborate painting of Mary holding her child. The vaulted ceiling above the altar displayed colourful frescoes.</p><p>Aziraphale closed her eyes and prayed. She didn’t say anything aloud, wary of attracting the attention of a middleperson. The thought of the Metatron or someone else being aware of what she had to say to God unnerved her greatly.</p><p><em> Hello, </em> she thought, <em> this is Aziraphale. I was wondering… I would like to talk to You about the demon Crowley. She is very good and kind, and she’s very empathetic towards humans and, well, towards me. She genuinely cares about me, she grows beautiful flowers, and she– what I’m trying to say is that I’m convinced that whatever she did wrong, she has made amends. She doesn’t even work for Hell any more; printing fake newspapers with ridiculous headlines and gluing coins to the pavement surely doesn’t count. I’d like to ask… is there, by any chance, a way to heal the damage from her fall?</em></p><p>Aziraphale paused.<em> Of course, she might not want that. She’d probably be angry if she knew I requested such a thing. I would simply like to know if there’s the possibility and if she could perhaps be granted that possibility. </em></p><p>She nodded to herself. She should wrap this up appropriately. <em> Thank You for listening. I’d be very grateful if You considered my wish. </em></p><p>She went back home to Crowley. God didn’t grant wishes when it came to the course of the human world, she mused, but perhaps She would be amenable to fulfilling this one, seeing as it concerned justice within angelic and demonic ranks. Surely it wasn’t just to let Crowley suffer the same fate which was inflicted on those who genuinely spread evil; perhaps there was a reward for atonement, even for them? She hadn’t directly atoned for whatever she had done, that was true - she’d snarl and hiss at the notion alone, Aziraphale imagined - but even though, her good heart had to count for something, didn’t it? Aziraphale had no idea if injuries from falling could be healed, but it was nice to think they could, and besides, she had to at least try.</p><p>“How’s the church?” the demon inquired, lounging in an armchair with a magazine. It had an ammonite on the cover. She was probably amusing herself with palaeontology papers again.</p><p>Aziraphale wiggled out of her winter coat and hung it on the coat rack, shrugging. “Nice. Not lavish at all, that’s for certain, although it does look less spooky from the inside.”</p><p>She padded over to Crowley and leaning over the backrest, placed a kiss on the top of her head.</p>
<hr/><p>“You don’t deserve to be here at all,” Crowley informed a tiny redcurrant sapling peeking out from a layer of mulch by the fence. “I have half a mind to just uproot you and compost you.” She said this conversationally, as she covered the surrounding soil with shredded leaves to shield it from winter temperatures. “Look over there at your siblings,” she pointed to the left at two taller bushes of the same species. “How come they can do it and you can’t?” She moved on to the next portion of the patch, not looking at the small shrub any more, but continuing to speak. “What are you good for?”</p><p>From her spying spot – because admittedly, spying was the most accurate description of what Aziraphale was doing – she saw the redcurrant tremble. Crowley straightened up and peered down at the plant. Then she sighed and muttered, “I always fuck you guys up, don’t I. Can’t sort out my own mess so I mess up someone else.”</p><p>Aziraphale emerged from her hideout behind the corner of the house, and approached the demon. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she thought she needed to address whatever this was.</p><p>“Crowley,” she said, and the demon startled, swerving around.</p><p>“Shit,” was her reaction upon coming face to face with Aziraphale.</p><p>“I heard what you said,” the angel confessed.</p><p>Crowley swallowed nervously. “How much?”</p><p>“Well, I,” Aziraphale floundered, “I heard you recount your thoughts regarding that shrub.”</p><p>Crowley fiddled with her gloves, picking at the cloth before taking them off. She didn’t reply.</p><p>“Would you mind if I hugged you right now?” Aziraphale said hesitantly.</p><p>Crowley’s surprised eyes met hers. The demon made a garbled noise and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned at the response but stepped forward, gathering the demon close. She stroked her tense back until Crowley relaxed and returned the embrace.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?” Aziraphale inquired quietly.</p><p>“No,” Crowley responded.</p><p>“I just– I think I know what you’re doing, scolding them like that. It’s not… not very subtle.”</p><p>Crowley breathed out heavily. “I suppose it isn’t, really. Sorry you had to witness that.”</p><p>“It’s all right, my dear.”</p><p>“It’s unfair, taking it out on them like that. I know it is, and I do it anyway.” <em> I’m too much of a coward to hurt myself, so I hurt others, </em>she added in her head. She couldn’t possibly say that aloud.</p><p>“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, squeezing her tighter. “Is there something I can do?”</p><p>“You’re already doing enough. I just… need to get over it. Might take a few more centuries, is all.”</p><p>“You could talk to someone about it,” Aziraphale suggested. “I hear humans do that sort of thing.”</p><p>“Yeah, and dump the story of my existence on some poor bugger? Thanks, but I’d rather not be responsible for making them a patient in their own workplace.”</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t have a response to that. “May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer, I just...”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Is this... is this a Hell thing or is it also–”</p><p>Crowley cut her off before she could attempt to fumble her way through the rest of the sentence. “It was a long time ago, I get it, all right? I should be over it. I <em> will </em> get over it.”</p><p>Aziraphale held Crowley tighter, imagining she could shield her from all harm, be it past, present or future.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Hello, this is Aziraphale. How do I pardon such a thing as making my love suffer? It’s not even my place to forgive, and therefore I don’t think I can do so. How can I reconcile that You and the perpetrator of her suffering are the same entity? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know You love me, and I know You love Crowley too, even if she’s convinced otherwise. I know You sometimes make the ones You love suffer, but I can’t do that myself. I would never want to harm Crowley. And the trouble is: if I condone someone else’s hurting her, doesn't it mean I partake in it? </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The only place in England which received snowfall during the holiday was probably Tadfield, as was the case most years. Aziraphale preferred spending her time in the warm house anyway, so it didn’t matter to her much. Crowley dragged her out for a walk through the forest from time to time, and there was a strange kind of melancholy in the bare twisting branches and brown, squelchy leaves underfoot.</p><p>They’d come back from one such walk, with hands and feet freezing, and settled on the sofa, close to the fireplace.</p><p>Aziraphale’s body was pressed against Crowley’s, and her cold fingers cradled the demon’s jaw. She kissed Crowley slowly, and she savoured every brush of lips, every sigh and every touch. Crowley kissed her back like she’d found a well in the middle of a desert. Warmth coursed through Aziraphale’s veins, and she felt unspeakably protective of the demon in her arms. Most of all the things in the world, she wished nothing bad would befall Crowley. It was a vulnerable feeling.</p><p>She pulled back, caressing Crowley’s cheeks and temples. Her eyes had become fully serpentine, and her pupils were blown. She was lovely. The loveliest creature Aziraphale had ever seen.</p><p>“You’re so, so dear to me,” Aziraphale whispered, running her fingers through Crowley’s currently long hair. How could God have let someone like this fall from Her grace?</p><p>She kissed the demon’s temple and held her close. The vast energies trapped inside their bodies were close enough to faintly sense each other, and she felt Crowley’s charred core and cracked halo, and it was breath-takingly beautiful. She could also sense the void where God’s love had been. For the first time, she let herself fully perceive the damage. She looked past the beloved soul and the intricacies that were purely Crowley, and saw the lacerations, the burn marks, the missing pieces. The injuries had the messiness of fresh wounds, after all this time.</p><p>She felt a wave of sorrow surge up in her ribcage, and she was helpless to stop the tears that sprang to her eyes. She wept, clutching Crowley close to her body, as if she could somehow protect her from what had already been done to her.</p><p>“Aziraphale? Angel, is there something wrong?” Crowley sounded alarmed.</p><p>Aziraphale tried to get her shuddering breaths under control. “Sorry, dear,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure how Crowley would react if she disclosed her thoughts to her. She guessed Crowley would likely interpret Aziraphale’s sentiments as pity and wouldn’t exactly appreciate them.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked again. “Talk to me, please, angel.”</p><p>“It’s all right, my dear,” Aziraphale said, voice wobbly. “My dearest,” she added softly. Her eyes welled up anew at her own words.</p><p>Crowley held her and stroked her back as Aziraphale continued crying silently. After a moment, the demon sniffed, “Now you’re making me cry too.”</p><p>“Sorry about that,” Aziraphale whispered.</p><p>“You don’t have to apologise,” Crowley responded quietly, still rubbing her back in slow motions. “What’s bothering you?”</p><p>Aziraphale pulled back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s, well –” her voice came out thick, and she coughed, “I can tell you, but I’m not sure it won’t upset you.”</p><p>“What?” Crowley’s eyes widened. “Angel, what is it? Is something happening? Are you all right?”</p><p>“Calm down, dear. I’m perfectly all right,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep her voice level. “I’m just sad, I suppose.”</p><p>“Sad?” Crowley repeated, a crestfallen look taking over her features. “Are you not happy here? With… with me?”</p><p>“Oh no, Crowley.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand. “Of course I’m happy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy, or this free.” She kissed the back of Crowley’s hand lightly. “I love you.”</p><p>Tension seeped out of Crowley’s body, and her gaze softened. “What is it, then?”</p><p>Aziraphale straightened her spine. “It’s just that lately, I’ve been thinking about how, well, how unfair certain things are.”</p><p>Crowley waited for her to continue, a wisp of worry settling in her eyes.</p><p>“The way you were exiled from Heaven, to be exact,” Aziraphale clarified quietly, looking down at her lap. “It wasn’t fair.”</p><p>“It was a long time ago,” Crowley said, jaw set.</p><p>“That’s not the point. It still… It was cruel. I can’t fathom how She could have just – how She could have done that to you.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Crowley said, eyes wide, and it was a warning. “Don’t go there. I beg of you, don’t fucking go there.”</p><p>“Should I not say what I think?”</p><p>Crowley stared at her wordlessly and lifted her hands to place them on Aziraphale’s upper arms, as if she wanted to ground her, to keep her within the confines of safe thought.</p><p>Aziraphale’s gaze searched hers, and then she continued, eyebrows knit. “Making you undergo such suffering...”</p><p>Crowley clamped a hand over Aziraphale’s mouth, eyes wild. “Shut up,” she hissed. “I’m serious.”</p><p>Aziraphale scowled at her but didn’t remove her hand. After a moment of quiet, Crowley put her hand down slowly, eyes on Aziraphale’s face as if she were making sure the angel wasn’t about to resume spouting blasphemy.</p><p>“Don’t. Just don’t,” she said in a low voice. “You’re on thin ice here, you know that, right? I couldn’t bear it if you fell. Do you know what it’s like? You suddenly feel colder and emptier than you’ve thought was possible. Your fucking wings burn. Your whole newly damned soul burns, and then there’s nothing. No love. No God. Just void.”</p><p>Aziraphale regarded her, and there was something in her eyes that scared Crowley beyond belief. It looked like defiance.</p><p>“It’s only a one-way ticket, angel,” she said.</p><p>What Aziraphale replied was, “You’ve never told me about the fall.”</p><p>“Didn’t wanna talk about it. What good would it do anyway?”</p><p>“I think it’s quite important to see the whole picture,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Shit, Aziraphale, do listen to yourself, would you?”</p><p>Aziraphale gave her the stink eye. “Kindly cease telling me what to do.”</p><p>Were the situation different, Crowley might have laughed, might have felt proud to hear those words coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth. As it was, there was entirely too much at stake.</p><p>“You know what? Go visit the church, yeah?” Crowley suggested. “Think about this from a different perspective. God has a plan, it’s ineffable and all that.”</p><p>Aziraphale cracked a smile. “Are <em> you </em> about to lecture me on God’s plan?”</p><p>“No. You’re going to lecture yourself. Now, shoo. To church with you.”</p><p>Aziraphale got up from the sofa slowly. “Well, I suppose it’s not a bad idea. A church is the ideal place to sort your thoughts.”</p><p>The Church of Our Lady of Consolation wasn’t technically supposed to be open at this hour. The Sun had set two hours ago, and the streets were empty and cold. The holy days had come and gone, and December was nearing its end.</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t take such a thing as church opening hours into consideration, so she opened the heavy door with ease and snuck inside. Candles were burning around the altar, because that was what Aziraphale expected to find. She sat in the back pew as before, miracling herself a cushion. (Those wooden benches were bloody uncomfortable.) She sat still for a moment, mind whirling.</p><p>The image of Crowley’s scorched essence resurfaced. It appeared to be etched into her mind – the raw edges where matter had been brutally torn out, the badly healed burns, the scars which slowed energy flow, the way she’d still seemed to be bleeding. Nobody had patched her up, nobody had soothed her.</p><p>Aziraphale sat slumped in her seat, in the back of the silent, empty church. She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.</p><p>There had been so many marks of pain, so many traces of suffering. There had been wounds which hadn’t yet started to heal and wounds which would probably never do so.</p><p>It had had to happen, hadn’t it? So they could be here, safe, living together, loving each other?</p><p>The thought that Crowley, her beautiful Crowley, must have been hurt in such a way in order for other events to take place made her stomach turn.</p><p>Aziraphale held the handkerchief pressed to her eyes, breathing shakily.</p><p><em>Hello, this is Aziraphale.</em> <em>I want to talk to You about the demon Crowley. I understand you can’t heal her? I suppose it was naïve of me to think it worked that way. I just think You should know that I’m here because she’s sent me. A demon has sent me to church so I would find my way back to You, that’s exactly what’s happened. Do You see how much she cares? It’s the thing she does. She cares too much. In Sodom and Gomorrah, during the world wars, the Ten Plagues, the flood, when diseases destroyed populations, she cared every time. It turns out I’m the far more selfish of the two of us. So many people have suffered, and it has never moved me to this point. I can’t bear the thought of her being hurt. I can’t understand why anyone who is good would harm her. I don’t know if falling is something that happens any more at all, but if it does, I won’t fault You for it. I could only ever fault You for one thing.</em></p><p>Aziraphale had initially been made to protect and to guard. If you hurt the one she protected the most fiercely, you couldn’t expect her to forget easily. And perhaps, you couldn’t expect her to forgive either.</p>
<hr/><p>Crowley nibbled at leftover Christmas biscuits as she pondered what had passed before she’d bullied Aziraphale into going to church.</p><p>She poured herself a generous glass of wine from the pantry as well, since this appeared to be a train of thought which warranted that sort of help.</p><p>If Aziraphale fell, it’d be because of her. The splendour of their newly experienced love blinded Aziraphale enough to prevent her from seeing reason. As far as Crowley could tell, Aziraphale had never thought this way before, always believing that whatever God did, it couldn’t be wrong. If she fell now, she’d surely regret it a few years along the line.</p><p>“Listen,” she said to the empty room, flicking her gaze up towards the ceiling. “You can’t let her fall for this. She loves you, trusts your plan no matter what bollocks it currently contains, never would question anything you do. She’s just got caught up in this new life we’ve made for ourselves, and she… well, it seems she’s rather fond of me. Which I’m still not entirely sure what to do with, but. Shit, I’m not talking to you about our relationship. What I’m getting at is, she’d never say the things she did if it weren’t for me. So don’t chuck her down as you did me.”</p><p>She took a long draught of wine. “Please.”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale visited the church a few more times after that. Sometimes she merely loitered outside or strolled around the cemetery, lighting candles on abandoned-looking graves.</p><p>She tried to reason with herself. <em> It turned out all right in the end, didn’t it? All’s well that ends well. I’m grateful for what we’ve got now. Crowley’s fall was just part of the process, wasn’t it? It had to happen so the rest would. </em></p><p>She swallowed the sick feeling that settled in her chest. Apparently, a different approach was in order.</p><p>
  <em> It has happened and that’s the end of it. There’s no point in pondering it. It’s not wise to question why bad things happen or to wish they didn’t. It’s wise to accept. </em>
</p><p>Except when she returned home and caught sight of Crowley, she faltered. She wanted to hold her close, to heal her wounds, to hide her from the one who’d hurt her. She wished to prevent God from laying a hand on her ever again. She wished to keep her safe from Her cruelty.</p><p>On one such night, Aziraphale agreed to go to sleep, and they lay facing each other in the dark. Crowley let a few platinum curls slip through her fingers, idly smoothing them against Aziraphale’s temple.</p><p>“Have you sorted it out with the chick Above yet?” she asked softly.</p><p>Aziraphale opened her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, love,” she replied, which wasn’t an answer. She seemed to realise that, so she added, “I believe this isn’t something I can ‘sort out’ just like that.”</p><p>Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, wide yellow eyes boring into hazel ones with urgency. “Angel, please, listen to me. I don’t know how it works now, but I didn’t get the time to write a philosophical treatise about whatever I was thinking. I was barely granted time to think it, and then I was falling. Please, just…”</p><p>Aziraphale propped herself up on her elbows and leant over Crowley, covering her lips with hers, which, again, wasn’t an answer. Crowley cupped her cheek, her hand trembling.</p><p>“I couldn’t stand it if you fell and it was my fault,” she whispered.</p><p>Aziraphale placed feather-light kisses high on her cheeks. “It wouldn’t be your fault,” she said. “Unless you’ve secretly been the one banishing angels from Heaven all along.”</p><p>She kissed Crowley’s lips gently, lingeringly. “I love you,” she murmured.</p><p>Crowley kept her eyes shut, a lump forming in her throat. She felt helpless. Stupid, selfish, pigheaded, stubborn angel.</p><p>Crowley didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night. Aziraphale, on the other hand, drifted off quickly, and before she did, she directed a thought upwards.</p><p>
  <em> Hello, this is Aziraphale. Everyone has their tipping point, don’t they? </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The universe, God, destiny or whatever you call it doesn’t necessarily wait for an opportune moment. It doesn’t wait until you’re ready. For example, one second you’re scrubbing a plate previously piled up with chocolate coconut biscuits, and the next there’s an unpleasant itch along your shoulder-blades.</p><p>Aziraphale calmly deposited the plate into the sink and washed the suds off of her hands. It was the sort of calm borne of executing every movement with focused precision.</p><p>It was eleven in the morning, and Crowley was still asleep. Her sleeping schedule had been all jumbled up lately. She’d admitted to lying in bed awake the entire night, even if Aziraphale slept.</p><p>“Don’t you get bored?” Aziraphale had asked. For an entity for whom time flowed much slower than for the majority of the world, Crowley got bored quite easily, so this development had struck Aziraphale as uncharacteristic.</p><p>Crowley had dismissed the question with a plain, “Nah,” and that had been that.</p><p>Suddenly feeling much too warm, Aziraphale stepped outside. A light grey layer of clouds covered the sky, and rainwater glistened on grass stalks. The temperature felt too high for January, and for once it couldn’t be blamed on climate change. Aziraphale knew it was so hot because there was a fire. Instinct told her to run from it, but there was no way to escape.</p><p>She knelt on the ground, hands grasping the dewy grass, her skin craving a cool sensation. She’d previously had the impression of being followed by a flame, and now she suddenly felt as if she were standing in it. She fisted her hands in the grass, squeezing her eyes shut and making a keening sound in the back of her throat. Before she knew it, she was lying on the ground, curled up and cheeks wet with tears.</p><p>Her wings manifested behind her, and her sinuses filled with smoke, making her cough. She hoped, half out of her mind with pain, that the fire wouldn’t damage the garden. She tried to pull her wings back into the immaterial plane with no avail.</p><p>She felt as if something were being ripped out of her while the blaze seared the resulting lacerations. Her human body passed out. In another dimension, her essence continued burning, lacking the ability to lose consciousness due to pain.</p><p>What might have been hours later, she regained awareness of her body.</p><p>She was covered with a blanket, and she was freezing. Her body ached, but it was no match for what her soul felt like. She gasped, trying to twist her suddenly much less voluminous essence away from the pain.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” a soft voice said. Crowley. Right.</p><p>She blinked her eyes open, and her gaze met Crowley’s. A muscle in the demon’s cheek twitched at whatever she saw.</p><p>“Hello,” Aziraphale attempted to whisper, but it came out more like a gasp.</p><p>Crowley’s eyes were damp, and she blinked quickly.</p><p>“I’m very cold,” Aziraphale said, voice thready.</p><p>Crowley nodded. Aziraphale was perceptibly shivering in Crowley’s arms, and her lips had gained a blue tint. “Can you stand up?” Crowley asked, voice trembling slightly. She gulped and continued more evenly, “I’d have carried you inside, but the wings were a bit of a problem.”</p><p>“I think I can stand, if you help me.”</p><p>With Crowley’s aid, Aziraphale struggled to a sitting position. She glanced to the left to catch a sight of her wings. Her feathers were singed, soot and ash painting them black and grey in places. Some had their tips burned off. Patches of dirty white were visible. The wings ached all over, and she attempted to hide them, only to stop with a wince.</p><p>“Yeah, you won’t be able to put them away for a while,” Crowley said.</p><p>“They haven’t changed colour,” Aziraphale stated, squeezing her eyes shut against the agony permeating her entire being.</p><p>“They don’t,” Crowley replied. “My wings are black because I want them to be. It’s the only way to properly conceal the singed look.”</p><p>Aziraphale got to her feet, quivering and leaning on Crowley for support.</p><p>“Oh,” she said. “Will they stay like this?”</p><p>Crowley wrapped her arm around Aziraphale’s waist, helping her stay upright. “The feathers you have now are too damaged to keep, so you’ll probably have to shed them. The feathers grow back the same, though. To my knowledge, there’s no way to get rid of the burn marks.”</p><p>They stumbled into the house clumsily, the door suddenly finding itself wider than it was used to so that Aziraphale could pass through without having to fold her wings. The staircase shortened considerably as they ascended it, breaking a few fundamental laws of physics. They made it to the bedroom. The sheets were rumpled and tangled, not the way Crowley liked to keep them at all. Crowley herself was still in her pyjamas, no socks or shoes on.</p><p>Aziraphale settled on her stomach on the bed, and Crowley piled blankets on her carefully, mindful of her wings. Aziraphale didn’t feel any warmer.</p><p>Crowley turned up the heating to full blast, and then snapped her fingers to increase the temperature further. She sat down on the edge of the bed.</p><p>“I’ve no clue where humans got the idea it’s warm in Hell,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Why do I still feel so cold? It must be like a sauna in here already.”</p><p>Crowley stroked her hair. “It should ease off after a while. Do you think you can sleep? It’s the best way to pass the time you need to heal.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied weakly.</p><p>Silence stretched over the room, and Crowley continued running her fingers over Aziraphale’s head, neck and shoulders, transferring gentle, miracled-up heat into her skin. Eventually, Aziraphale’s shivering receded, but she kept grimacing, and the tear tracks on her cheeks hadn’t dried up.</p><p>It took hours for her to nod off, which Crowley spent trying to find a way to soothe Aziraphale with her magic. She’d never had to comfort another demon before.</p><p>When Crowley was certain Aziraphale was fast asleep, she fetched a chair from the study and pulled it up next to the bed. She took Aziraphale’s hand under the blankets and held it.</p><p>Then she turned her gaze up to the ceiling.</p><p>“I fucking prayed,” she snarled, keeping her voice a whisper. “I prayed, like an idiot, night after night. So thanks for nothing.”</p><p>She cried then, silently. She needed to get it out before Aziraphale woke up. She needed to be strong for her angel – no matter what anyone upstairs said, Aziraphale would always be that to her. It wasn’t something God could decide.</p>
<hr/><p>By April, Aziraphale was able to tuck her wings away, and they could venture beyond the borders of their garden.</p><p>Crowley put her glasses on, and handed the second pair she was holding to Aziraphale.</p><p>“Oh, really,” Aziraphale said, but took them. She settled them on her nose, hiding unnatural silver irises and sclerae criss-crossed with black veins. She turned her bespectacled gaze at Crowley.</p><p>She looked utterly ridiculous. Crowley cackled.</p><p>Aziraphale’s lips stretched in a grin, and she walked over to the full-length mirror to take a look at herself. “I can’t wear this, Crowley. I look like I belong to the Mafia.”</p><p>“You look like someone’s aunt who decided she was going to fit in with the youth,” Crowley told her truthfully.</p><p>Aziraphale straightened her bow tie primly. She’d got all decked out, glad she could finally go out in public again. “Well, I suppose it’ll have to do.”</p><p>She held out her hand, and Crowley took it. Aziraphale pulled her close and put her arms around her, feeling overwhelming gratitude. The chilly feeling marking the absence of God hadn’t disappeared, but it was easier to tolerate with Crowley by her side.</p><p>They drew apart, keeping their hands linked, and strode out into the fresh spring air.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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